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It's like there's a monkey on my back. A gaming monkey, and he's rattling dice in my ear.

One more From The Vault, because I'd completely forgotten about it, and it made me laugh out loud when I read it.

While Anne and I drove down the freeway today, Just Like Heaven came on the radio.

"This was my first CD," I said.

"I know," she said. "You tell me that every time we hear a song from it."

"And one day, you'll hear it, and I won't be here for some reason or another, and you'll wish I was here to tell you."

While we both pondered the macabre nature of that particular thought,
I realized that not only was this album forever linked to my first CD
player, but it also gave me hypernostalgic memories of gaming with my
group of friends in high school.

"I don't know what it is," I said, "but lately, I've wanted to get
together with geeks and do a weekend of serious nonstop gaming."

She glanced over at me. "Oh?"

"Yeah. But this is more than the usual 'I want to play Car Wars'
thing. This is a serious --" I searched for the exact word to describe
the overwhelming longing, approaching psychophysical need to play, and settled on, "Jones. Like an addict, you know?"

I wiggled around in my seat, and faced her, "It's like there's -- hey, aren't we taking the 110?"

"Whoops." She said, as she quickly changed lanes.

"It's like there's a monkey on my back. A gaming monkey, and he's rattling dice in my ear."

"Like he's shaking them in a Yahtzee cup?" She said.

"Gamers don't use Yahtzee cups," I said, as patiently as I could.
"It's more like he's holding a bag of dice in his hand." I held my hand
up, and felt the invisible bag in my palm. "And he's rattling the dice
around."

"Is it your bag of dice?" she said.

"Yeah! It's totally my bag of dice!" I paused for a moment, and
added, "but he's not opening it. Because if he opens it, and touches my
dice, I will fucking kill that monkey."

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It's like there's a monkey on my back. A gaming monkey, and he's rattling dice in my ear.

One more From The Vault, because I'd completely forgotten about it, and it made me laugh out loud when I read it.

While Anne and I drove down the freeway today, Just Like Heaven came on the radio.

"This was my first CD," I said.

"I know," she said. "You tell me that every time we hear a song from it."

"And one day, you'll hear it, and I won't be here for some reason or another, and you'll wish I was here to tell you."

While we both pondered the macabre nature of that particular thought,
I realized that not only was this album forever linked to my first CD
player, but it also gave me hypernostalgic memories of gaming with my
group of friends in high school.

"I don't know what it is," I said, "but lately, I've wanted to get
together with geeks and do a weekend of serious nonstop gaming."

She glanced over at me. "Oh?"

"Yeah. But this is more than the usual 'I want to play Car Wars'
thing. This is a serious --" I searched for the exact word to describe
the overwhelming longing, approaching psychophysical need to play, and settled on, "Jones. Like an addict, you know?"

I wiggled around in my seat, and faced her, "It's like there's -- hey, aren't we taking the 110?"

"Whoops." She said, as she quickly changed lanes.

"It's like there's a monkey on my back. A gaming monkey, and he's rattling dice in my ear."

"Like he's shaking them in a Yahtzee cup?" She said.

"Gamers don't use Yahtzee cups," I said, as patiently as I could.
"It's more like he's holding a bag of dice in his hand." I held my hand
up, and felt the invisible bag in my palm. "And he's rattling the dice
around."

"Is it your bag of dice?" she said.

"Yeah! It's totally my bag of dice!" I paused for a moment, and
added, "but he's not opening it. Because if he opens it, and touches my
dice, I will fucking kill that monkey."